Of Tattoos and Braids
by Dickonfan
Summary: Tristran has tattoos and braids. Wanna know why?


Tristran walked away from the merriment going on in the tavern. Yet another comely woman, new to the fort, had sat down next to him and gently caressed the tattoos on his cheek. As though that would mean something special to him.

She smiled sweetly at him; he turned to face her and gave her that same look he had given to all the other women who did this to him. She pulled back from him and left the table with all due haste.

Feeling the need to be outdoors rather than in the knights' barracks, Tris climbed the stairs adjacent to the Wall and walked along the parapet. The night sky was full of the little lights that sparkle across it when it is clear and held but a half moon.

Sitting down at the edge of the Wall, he watched the activities of the various people at the tavern and of those walking along the pathways leading from one building to another. And he wondered what it was about the tattoos that seemed to fascinate people, especially the women.

All the boys in his tribe got their tattoos when they were of the age at which they were allowed to ride off on their own throughout the land their tribe claimed. There was nothing to mark the boundaries, no stone monoliths, no particular rivers or streams, no forests. But each tribe knew where its land began and ended.

Tristran's face was tattooed when he went on his first overnight ride alone. If he crossed paths with another person, he would be able to tell if they were friend or foe. His people were scattered all over their land.

In fact, they were so spread out that a ritual had been sanctioned so that a man and a woman could marry even if the elder was not present to say the binding words with the couple. The man would say to the woman, "I, son of (mother's name) take you (woman's name) to be my wife. I marry you." The woman then said, "I, daughter of (mother's name) take you (man's name) to be my husband. I marry you." And they were married. When, and if, they met others of the tribe, it was accepted that the couple was indeed married as long as they affirmed that they had said the words to each other.

It was wise to be able to recognize your fellow tribesmen, even it you didn't know them personally. That's all the tattoos meant, a way to recognize them as you wandered your lands.

What Tristran couldn't understand was why the women here were so drawn to the tattoos. They were just marks for recognition, nothing mystical or mysterious. Women!

And then there were his braids. While he was on the receiving end of ridicule by Roman soldiers and even some of the locals, the knights just accepted them as another part of what made Tristran, well, Tristran. A passing question or comment might be made, but never anything tinged with ridicule, only curiosity. But Tris kept his silence. The braids had special meanings, unlike the tattoos.

The braid made by the tribe's elder was done when a man left the tribe for an extended journey. Tris had his made when he left to start his service to Rome. The elder made Tristran's braid tight and right at the scalp. Its current length testified as to how long Tris had been gone from his home. That was _its_ meaning. And when Tristran returned home, the elder would remake the braid in the style which showed that he had traveled far, and long, and returned safely.

The other braids had a different meaning. Tristran chuckled to himself as he thought of how often he was advised to "make another braid so you can see better in battle" by some of the knights. But he was only allowed the ones he had for now.

In his tribe, a man earned the right to make one braid during each 5 year span of his life in which he killed an enemy in battle. Tris got his first braid at the age of 10. He got his second while still with his people.

The third was allowed after he had been at the Wall. There was no requirement that the enemy be killed while he was with his people. It was his tribe's way to trust that a man earned each braid he wore. Tristran knew he earned the right to make this braid and did so. Tristran would tell the story of how he earned the third one when he got home. The fourth braid would come soon enough, he figured.

Tristran could undo them and remake them whenever necessary and wherever he felt like placing them. The placement of the braids held no particular meaning.

So, the number of braids in a man's hair was a testament to his fighting capabilities and his longevity. Tristran was proud of the braids he had earned and looked forward to getting more. When he returned home he wanted his people to see he had continued to be a warrior in each 5 year span of his life.

The women here never asked about his braids. They just wanted to stroke his tattoos. Tristran, as sure as the gods watched over his people, just kept his silence. He was not about to share the reason for his tattoos or his braids or anything else about him with them.

He would wait for the woman who knew to ask about the braids first. And for that, he figured he would have to be home. She would ask him to tell the story of each braid he wore. He would tell her of the two he had gotten in battles with an enemy tribe while he lived with his people. And then he would tell about the others through stories of the battles while at the Wall.

Tristran had been a good storyteller before he left his people and he had continued with it during the first months of travel to the Wall. But he could see his fellow conscripts were not really interested in stories of battle and triumph; they were wrapped up in their own thoughts of home and were fearful of what would happen to them. So he stopped his storytelling and learned to keep silent.

Silence was his way now. He looked forward to the day when he returned home and would be with his tribesmen, and the woman, whoever she might be, who would understand and appreciate the stories he wove by the fire.


End file.
